


Of Dust and Quilts

by dunk_on_em (the_author_at_221B)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_author_at_221B/pseuds/dunk_on_em
Summary: Aziraphale has a nightmare about what could have been, and what it could have cost him.Crowley has open arms.





	Of Dust and Quilts

It started with the bookshop. It wasn’t on fire, nothing as dramatic as that. It was simply _ceasing to be_. All the books, the comfy old chairs, the stacks of paper, all of it - crumbling to dust around him. Frantically, Aziraphale tried to reach for the book sitting on the desk. It turned to ash in his fingers, leaving them stained and grimy. He stumbled backwards, kicking up dust as he did so. It filled his lungs and made his eyes water as he ran to the exit.

The angel burst through the bookshop’s doors, onto the city streets. He looked up just in time to see his city fall apart around him. Buildings were crumbling, cars were dissolving into nothing. There wasn’t another living soul outside. Frantically, he snapped his fingers, trying to slow the passage of time, trying to stop this all from happening, trying to do _anything, anything at all, please God_.

But nothing happened, and the world continued to collapse.

“Aziraphale?” A voice called out from behind him. “Angel?”

Aziraphale turned around, his feet moving towards his friend before he even registered what was happening.

Crowley had one arm outstretched and the other wrapped tightly around himself. The glass in one of his glasses was broken, and Aziraphale could see the bright yellow of his eyes shining through.

“Crowley, my dear what-”

But before Aziraphale could answer, Crowley collapsed. The arm that he had wrapped around his middle fell to the side, and Aziraphale could see a wound, terrible and dark, and slowly growing bigger. Aziraphale raced to his side, gathering the demon in his arms.

Aziraphale tried to heal him, but like snapping his fingers at the destruction of the world, it did nothing.

“Crowley, what happened?” he whispered, his voice broken and weak.

Crowley took a shuddering breath. He sadly smiled as he raised a hand to cup the angel’s cheek.

“You won.”

The road that Aziraphale was kneeling on gave out all at once. It crumbled, sending the angel and the demon spiraling into the abyss.

“Heaven has finally won.”

* * *

 

Aziraphale awoke with a start. His breath was coming in heaving gulps as he tried to steady himself, tried to remember where he was. He was in a chair, a good one, his favorite one. There was a glass of cold cocoa next to him. The room was dark, but all in one piece.

The _apocalypse hadn’t happened_. He and Crowley and stopped it. Or Adam and his friends had. _Someone_ had stopped it, that was for sure. He was alive, and Crowley was too.

He wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to dry them. He hadn’t even _meant_ to fall asleep. He had told Crowley to go upstairs without him. He told Crowley that he just had to finish this book, and that he would see him in the morning for breakfast.

 In the morning.  

Aziraphale didn’t think he could wait that long. If he wasn’t tired before, he was certainly tired now. He softly put the book down, taking comfort in the solidness of the cover. After miracling himself some sleepwear, he padded up the stairs, opening the door to their shared bedroom.

Crowley was curled up in a quilt in the center, the tufts of his hair the only thing visible. Aziraphale felt his heart slowly piece itself back together at the sight. He tip-toed closer, trying not to wake the demon.

He failed.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley mumbled, rolling over. “What’s going on?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but nothing seemed to want to come out.

Crowley smiled sadly, his eyes glancing at the worry lines on the angel’s forehead and the red-rimmed state of his eyes.

 Wordlessly, the fallen angel pushed aside the cover and opened his arms. Aziraphale didn’t need to be asked twice. He curled up on Crowley’s chest, tucking his head under his chin. He squeezed tightly, burrowing into the warmth.

Crowley threw the quilt back over the two of them, and wrapped his arms around the angel. He wisely said nothing, and let his heartbeat lull his angel back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any thoughts about this work would be so, so appreciated!  
> This was prompted by garbage-bee over on tumblr.
> 
> I'm accepting Good Omens Prompts on my Tumblr here
> 
> Thank you again for reading!!


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